


Lovely

by lutes_and_dandelions



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Happy Ending, Horse Girl Geralt, M/M, Missing Jaskier, Pining, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24446344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lutes_and_dandelions/pseuds/lutes_and_dandelions
Summary: Since forgiving Geralt for the incident on the mountain, he and Jaskier had met in Hagge, Aedirn, near the end of every autumn. They'd spend a night drinking and playing cards before making the journey up to Kaer Morhen for the winter. However, when Geralt arrives for their fourth meeting in the town, he finds Jaskier - always the first to arrive - is not onlynotwaiting for him, but is missing.With only Roach and a stallion he found on his way into town for company, Geralt sets about trying to find his missing bard. Will he succeed?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 97
Kudos: 536
Collections: Best Geralt





	Lovely

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the lovely [QFC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nocturnejellyfish/pseuds/nocturnejellyfish) for being my beta <3

Geralt was riding Roach towards Hagge, Aedirn, a mining town on the banks of the Pontar. The late autumn afternoon sun was ahead of him, only an hour from setting. He was set to meet Jaskier in The Black Bear – an inn - spend an evening together and then together, they would travel to Kaer Morhen. Joining Yennefer and Ciri, Lambert, Eskel and Vesemir for the winter. Ever since Geralt had apologised after the incident on the mountain they’d met at The Black Bear, exactly two weeks after Samhain. He was less than fifteen minutes from the town when he heard it, the scared braying of a horse in peril. 

He turned Roach off the road and into the surrounding forest.

It did not take long to find the poor beast. Trapped on its side, wrapped in thorny briars and frantically flailing, trying to get itself free but only succeeding in driving the thorns deeper. Geralt could see the whites of its eyes, smell blood and fear in the air. 

Geralt dismounted, grabbed Roach’s halter and lead rope from her saddlebags, pocketed some of the sugar cubes and approached slowly. Making sure to stay a safe distance from its thrashing legs and neck, Geralt crouched down and started to talk.

“It’s okay, I’m here now. I’ll take care of you until we find your master or mistress. Careful, you’ll exhaust yourself, beautiful,” he crooned, fingers itching to touch the horses quivering flanks, to calm it with his hands. But he stayed in place, he knew of witchers who had met their end by taking an errant kick to the head, Geralt was not going to join them. 

After ten minutes the horse eventually calmed, the acrid scent of terror disappearing when it finally lay still. It sat with its head up, one of those dark brown eyes boring into Geralt’s own. Geralt continued to sit there, letting the horse grow further used to his presence while he looked the beast over.

The horse appeared to be a Redanian Thoroughbred - the breed of the upper class - with a rich bay winter coat that Geralt just knew would come up to a lovely shine after a good groom. It had two white socks on its back legs and a white flash running down its head, its soft muzzle a dusty pink. Burrs and thistles riddled its mane and tail and it’s forelock was so long only luck was keeping it from obscuring the horse's eyes. 

Geralt peaked between the horse’s legs. “I wouldn’t try getting amorous with Roach,” he warned, his mouth twitching up at the corners, “the last stallion who did took two back hooves square to the chest. His owner was not happy with me, I will tell you.” 

The horse nickered at him, warm and low. It really did have very intelligent eyes, more intelligent than any horse Geralt had ever seen. 

“I’m going to approach you now,” he murmured, wondering how much the horse understood. Geralt always thought Roach knew exactly what he was saying but knew that that was just wistful thinking really.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he knee-walked over, letting a litany of soothing words fall from his lips the entire time. Stopping when he reached the horse’s chest, Geralt placed the halter and rope down and then raised a hand - allowing the horse to track his movements – before pressing his hand to his neck. After a moment Geralt ran the flat on his palm over the horse’s soft winter coat. “That’s not so bad is it.”

He continued to gently pet the horse, letting his fingers move into his mane to scratch within the long black hairs, smiling when the horse tilted his head to the side in pleasure. “I think we’ll be good friends.” 

Geralt slowly turned around so he was facing the same way as the horse’s nose, letting his hand move higher and higher. He scratched inside one of the horse’s ears - causing another appreciative head tilt - then raised his other hand to ever so softly stroke the soft hair that covered the horse’s jaw before letting one slide down to tickle it’s now relaxed and hanging bottom lip. 

“I’m going to put the halter on you and then I’ll cut you free. If you don’t throw your head about you can even have some sugar cubes for your trouble.” 

He started to stroke the soft pink skin of the horse’s muzzle as he picked up the halter with his other hand. Wrapping a gentle hand around the muzzle to keep the horses head in place he slipped the nose band into place, letting go so he could pass the crown piece behind its ears and do the buckle. The horse’s only reaction was to huff out a few unsure breaths through his nose as Geralt put the noseband in place. As a reward Geralt offered him a sugar cube, which after some consideration the horse gently took from Geralt’s palm. 

“You have lovely manners,” he praised it, scratching in his ears again. The horse lowered his head onto his shoulder this time, drawing a dry chuckle from Geralt, even as his bony jaw stuck into his shoulder. “Let’s get you free,” he said, patting the horse on the neck one last time before standing and drawing his trophy knife. 

So as not to startle the poor thing he worked methodically from the neck down, keeping a hand on it the whole time and making sure to keep his voice low and soothing, talking through what he was doing even though he knew the horse would not understand the words. Likely sensing Geralt only wanted to help, the horse stayed mostly still while Geralt cut away the briars, only twitching involuntarily whenever Geralt pulled thorns from punctured skin.

When at last the horse was free Geralt took the lead rope hanging beneath his chin and gave it a tug, encouraging him to stand. With one powerful movement the horse was on its feet. The bay turned out to almost be the same size as Roach, he was sure there would only be an inch within the heights of their withers. 

“You were so good, I’m so proud of you,” Geralt murmured, giving him another sugar cube before running the backs of his fingers over the horse’s muzzle once again. It was Geralt’s favourite part of any horse, he’d still yet to find anything softer. 

He turned and clicked his tongue at the horse and gave him the verbal command to walk on, unsure what the beast was used too. One of them must have been correct because it happily followed him back over to Roach - who was still waiting patiently where he’d left her. Geralt could see her ears flicking back and forth and smiled, knowing she was trying to talk to the member of her own kind. 

He tied the lead rope around one of the saddle bag rings and turned to the horse. “Right, let’s look you over before we head into town.” 

Geralt slowly ran a hand back down the horse’s neck, once again making sure he was in constant contact with him as he categorised the slowly bleeding puncture wounds. With great care he removed the thorns still embedded in the horse's skin. The poor beast occasionally nickered softly but didn’t move so once Geralt had finished he gave the horse another sugar cube. “I’ll have to wash them once you’re stabled, you probably won’t enjoy it, but I don’t want any of them getting infected.”

He continued on his exploration for injuries then, slowly running his hands down each of the horse’s, feeling for any swelling or hot areas that might indicate lameness. Happily, there was nothing. Geralt tried to lift the horse’s front right leg next to check his hoof but, oddly, it didn’t seem to understand what he was trying to do. He repeatedly ran a hand all the way down his leg a few times but still he did nothing.

“Come on,” Geralt encouraged, pushing his shoulder into the horse’s shoulder, “shift your weight over so I can lift your leg.” 

Geralt hadn’t expected anything but when he next ran his hand down the horse’s legs it shifted its weight over and allowed Geralt to pick up its hoof. He murmured a quiet thanks as he picked the mud out of its hoof with his fingers and inspected the inside for any damage or rot. All seemed healthy so he placed it back down and then repeated the process with the horse’s other three legs. 

“Well, apart from those few cuts you seem fine. You’re a little messy but that’s nothing a good brush won’t fix.” He was about to give the horse another sugar cube when Roach turned her head and tried to bite the poor thing. “Roach!” he admonished, “jealousy is not a good look on you. He’s done nothing to you. I was going to give you a sugar cube, but I shan’t now.” 

Geralt gave the bay another cube, gave Roach one anyway because she was giving him that _look_ , mounted and then set off towards the road. The bay followed behind happily, still tied to Roach’s saddle.

Quarter of an hour later and he was crossing through the town's eastern gate, nodding to the guards as he did so and pushing through the momentary sensory overload as he acclimatised to the smells and sounds of a bustling town. The Black Bear was in the centre of Hagge, a reasonably well kept establishment with a nice stable yard attached to it. The beds were free of lice, it always served good food and ale, and no one spat at him. It was more than Geralt could say for most places. 

Jaskier always arrived before Geralt, travelling from Oxenfurt to Hagge by river barge. They would always spend the night, catching up over drinks and a few rounds of gwent, then well rested and well fed they’d set off on the road to Kaer Mohren. Although they’d have to decide what to do with the horse Geralt had acquired before leaving this time. Hagge was the only settlement around for miles, bar a few farms, and Redanian Thoroughbreds cost a pretty penny so Geralt didn’t think it would be too difficult to find his owner.

Geralt was looking forward to seeing Jaskier, he had missed the man quite terribly while he’d been on the path. They’d last parted ways after the summer solstice - Geralt having travelled to Oxenfurt to spend the celebration with Jaskier – and it had been a long five months without him. Parting with Jaskier was still no easier for Geralt than it was the first time. But tonight, he would be reunited with his bard, for their fourth winter together, and the thing in his chest that had dislodged itself in June would finally shift back into place. 

The new horse began snorting fearfully as they rode through the town. Geralt turned in the saddle to look back at the bay, head swinging from side to side and startling at the many noises that accompanied being in a town. He let more soothing words of near nonsense flow out of his mouth, successfully catching the horse's attention and somehow managing to keep it. The last thing Geralt needed was it rearing in fear while still attached to Roach’s saddle.

They made it through the village without incident, when he reached The Black Bear he rode Roach straight into the stable yard. A large square, three walls of contained large stables, the fourth acting as a hay and straw storage area, a feed cupboard, a small room for the stablehands as well as holding the gated entrance arch.

A young stablehand appeared and once he’d dismounted Geralt put in his requests. A stable for each of the horses, fresh hay and water for them both. The teenager asked if Geralt wanted him to feed the horses but Geralt told him no. Once he’d had a bath and been reunited with Jaskier, he planned to give them both a groom and then their dinner. The young lad agreed, took Geralt’s coin from him and then indicated two stables next door to each other before going off to fill hay nets. 

He stabled the bay horse first.

“I really must think of a name for you,” Geralt murmured to it as he walked him into and around the large stable, so his head was by the door. “I know you will already have one but I don’t know it and I can’t keep thinking of you as ‘horse’. My bard will probably be able to come up with a nice one for you.”

It nickered at him softly and once Geralt had removed the headcollar, pushed its muzzle quite insistently against the front of his armour. “I don’t have any more sugar cubes for you,” he chuckled, stroking his muzzle before letting himself out of the stable, chuckling again at the way the horse huffed out its breath indignantly.

Roach went next. The bay horse let his head hang over half wall between the stables, watching Geralt with an intensity he’d never seen in a horse before. As he untacked Roach, Geralt idly wondered if there was something magical about the beast, but his medallion laid still against his chest. He placed Roach’s tack over the stable door and then collected the hay nets the stablehand had left outside the door for him and hanged them, one in each stable. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the stablehand struggling with the water buckets so Geralt crossed the yard to help.

The horses fed and watered, Geralt asked if there was any iodine on hand. With a nod the lad went to retrieve it and Geralt found a spare bucket and filled it with water from the trough in the middle of the yard. He placed it down outside of the bay’s stable, found a relatively clean rag from Roach’s saddlebags, picked up the water again and entered the bay’s stable. 

“This might hurt, but I have to clean your wounds.”

The stablehand returned with a bottle of iodine and Geralt thanked him before setting the bucket and bottle down and wetting the rag. Geralt gently washed each puncture, whispering reassuring platitudes to the bay the entire time, thankfully he stayed perfectly still.

“I’m sorry but this will hurt,” he warned before pouring some of the iodine onto the rag. Still the bay didn’t do anything more than stamp his back leg as Geralt pressed the fluid into the bay’s wounds. 

Injuries tended, Geralt ran his hand down the bay’s neck one final time before letting himself out of the stable, taking the bucket and the iodine with him. He poured the water away after rinsing the rag, placing it on top of Roach’s saddle to dry and then crossing the yard to the little office to hand back the iodine. On his way back Geralt stopped a couple of meters away from the stables, looking into both.

He watched the two horses for a few moments. Roach was happily tearing hay from the net while the bay was picking at it a little more sedately, almost as if he was trying to get a taste of it first. “I’ll be back soon,” he told them both, first affectionately patting Roach’s neck and then giving the bay another ear scratch since he seemed to like it so much. 

Geralt laid Roach’s bridle, reins, headcollar and head rope over her saddle and hooked his left arm underneath the saddle pad, hefting it easily as he trudged into the inn. It was warm inside, a fire roaring in the hearth. No one paid Geralt any mind when he entered, always a nice feeling. His twin swords brokered him no anonymity, but this was not the first time he’d stayed at The Black Bear and it likely wouldn’t be the last.

“Greetings,” he called, approaching the innkeeper behind the bar, a man who bore a striking resemblance to the teenage stablehand, “what room is Master Jaskier staying in?” 

“The good Master Bard hasn’t arrived yet, sir,” he answered.

That drew Geralt up short. Jaskier always arrived before him, usually by a good few days. The fact that Jaskier had not arrived made something spasm uneasily in Geralt’s chest. It wasn’t a particularly long journey between Oxenfurt and Hagge by boat and it was the safest method of transport but wasn’t completely without dangers. Jaskier was famous though, that usually kept him safe and if it didn’t, he knew how to handle a sword even if he liked to pretend otherwise.

Geralt told himself very sternly that Jaskier was fine. That he’d been delayed leaving Oxenfurt and just because Jaskier usually arrived in Hagge before Geralt, did not mean that Geralt should expect that. 

“Right. Any rooms free?” he asked.

“Plenty. Your usual room?” 

“Please.” Geralt pulled the coin out of the money purse he carried around his neck, adding a little extra for a hot bath. “No one’s been enquiring about a missing stallion, have they?” He asked once he’d handed over the crowns, “Rescued one about a quarter hour outside of the village, it had gotten itself caught up in some briars.”

“No, sir. If anyone does though I’ll point them in your direction. Might be worth checking the notice board across the road,” the innkeeper suggested. 

“Thank you,” he nodded, “I’ll have the bath as soon as possible please.” 

Geralt headed up the stairs, the way familiar although the key in his palm felt heavier than normal. It wasn’t a huge room, with bare walls and a wooden floor, the bed was pushed up against the wall to give more space. There was a window that overlooked the stable yard, although he couldn’t see the two Roach and the bay were occupying. There was a small dressing table with a mirror and a stool. No fireplace, which was a shame because it was starting to get cold at night and it seemed he wouldn’t have Jaskier to curl around this evening. Provided the bath wasn’t very big, there would be just enough room left for it without blocking off any part of the room.

He carefully placed Roach’s tack in the corner by the head of the bed and started stripping off his dusty armour and inspecting it while he waited for his bath. Another teenaged boy who looked remarkably like the innkeeper delivered a wooden tub and ten minutes later returned with the hot water. Once the bath was full and the door was firmly locked, Geralt pulled off the rest of his clothes, unearthed the little cloth bag that held his soap and shaving kit out of Roach’s saddlebags and sank into the hot water with a relieved sigh.

He tried to relax, and his muscles did eventually but his thoughts kept turning to Jaskier. Geralt wasn’t worried, yet, or at least wasn’t worried too much. However, every creak on the stairs made Geralt look to the door, place his hands on the edges of the bath, ready to haul himself out of the bath to unlock the door if Jaskier happened to knock. No one knocked. 

Once he was clean and had shaved, he left the cooling water and used it to wash first his clothes and then scrub down his armour while he let the cool air dry him. After hanging his clothes in various places around the room he pulled on his spare set - simple brown trousers and a white shirt - before retrieving Roach’s brushes from her saddlebags along with the small bottle of mane and tail oil.

He crossed the road and checked the noticeboard; it was dark outside, but darkness had never been a hindrance to him. There were no notes about a missing horse but there was a potential contract, so he pocketed it to investigate later.

Both horses nickered when they spotted him crossing the stable yard and a few of the other horses in residence appeared in their own stable doorways, curious to see who had joined them. Geralt slipped into Roach’s stable first and brushed her down, removing the saddle marks from her back. Her coat had grown a lot over the course of the autumn, grown long to protect her against the winter cold, it was soft between his fingers. It didn’t take long to comb through the few tangles in her mane and tail, but he continued long after they were gone, simply enjoying the action of it. After removing the mud from her hooves, he slipped out of her stable and into the bay’s.

It looked at him steadily as he reached over the top of the half door to bolt it closed behind him. Tucking the brushes under one arm, he reached out a hand and gently pressed it to the horse's forehead, right in its blind spot. The bay didn’t even bat an eye at him for it, it had taken Roach weeks to trust him in that space. “Thank you,” he said, corners of his mouth curling up into a small smile. “Now, let’s make you look nice.”

It snorted at his comment.

“Fine, nicer,” he conceded before getting to work, careful of the puncture wounds he’d tended to earlier. The bay’s tail was knotted so badly Geralt debated cutting it but instead he persisted with the aid of the oil, the task taking his mind away from Jaskier. When he could finally run the brush down the whole length of the bay’s tail without it snagging, he moved onto its mane, which presented a slightly easier task. 

Once he’d brushed out the bay’s forelock, Geralt stepped back to admire his work, arm outstretched so he could gently tickle the bay's chin while he considered him.

“I’m surprised you can even see through that,” he mused. The bay threw his head to the side, clearing one big brown eye to stare unencumbered at Geralt. Geralt hummed and then closed the distance again, parting the forelock into three strands and plaiting it, taking the leather band from his own hair to stop it from unravelling.

“How’s that? Better? I’ll be able to see your lovely eyes all the time now,” he murmured. Geralt went to pet that soft muzzle but the bay had other ideas, shoving his nose into Geralt’s now unbound hair, snuffling in it.

“You won’t find any treats in there,” Geralt chuckled, taking the horse’s muzzle gently in his hands and moving it away from his hair.

Geralt’s stomach chose that moment to remind him he’d not eaten since midday, rumbling noisily. The bay dropped his head to investigate the noise, pressing his nose into Geralt’s shirt and making him laugh. “Yes, I think it’s dinner time for all three of us. You two get to go first though. I know what Roach likes but what do you like, lovely? Oats? Barley? Bran?”

The bay nickered at Geralt as he collected the brushes where he’d dropped them around the stable and placed them just inside of the door.

“Oh, you want all three, do you?” he asked, patting its neck one last time before letting himself back out of the stable and crossing the yard to the feed room. He grabbed two buckets from the pile in the corner, adding handfuls of chaff, bran and oats to both and then adding a handful of barley to the bays bucket. 

Roach stuck her head out over her stable door when he spotted him leaving the feed room, neighing impatiently and even kicking the door.

“I’m coming,” he called to her, stopping only to add some water to both. He gave Roach hers first, not wanting her to inflict any more damage to the poor door, and let the bay have his. Roach barely stopped to breath as she scarfed hers down, a treat for her, something she knew she only got when she was stabled. The bay sniffed his a little first before, like with his hay, taking a few experimental mouthfuls before digging in. 

He wished them both goodnight - the bay horse lifted momentarily to look at Geralt, whereas Roach was already back at her hay net and thus not paying Geralt any attention - before heading back into the inn. He ordered stew and a tankard of ale; both were more than decent.

Full, he looked around the tavern, eyeing up the evening’s patrons. His gwent cards were upstairs, in Roach’s saddlebags, he debated retrieving them but decided against it. He’d been so excited to see Jaskier and Geralt didn’t think he could face the evening without him. Without any better to do, he went to bed.

As he lay on his back, eyes closed, trying to quieten his mind, Geralt decided to go down to the quay the following morning to check if the skipper Jaskier usually hired to get him up the Pontar from Oxenfurt had been seen recently or not. With that decided Geralt rolled onto his side, trying to ignore how bereft he felt. He’d been so ready to curl up around Jaskier, to pretend for one evening that his love was requited but instead he laid alone with only the company of the nagging thoughts telling him that something wasn’t quite right.

-oOo-

After a breakfast of porridge and honey - a rare treat – Geralt paid for another night and left the inn, clean armour buckled firmly in place, swords and crossbow on his back and hair rebound with a fresh tie. It took around half an hour to muck out the stables, refill the hay nets and water buckets, before he spent a little bit of time fussing over them both. Geralt knew he could pay the stablehand, but he’d always enjoyed the task of mucking out a stable, had always found something wonderfully therapeutic in the action of it. The horses tended to, he set off into town.

Geralt found the Alderman who’d posted the contract on the way to inquire about the work. It was easy enough to deduce that a nest of endregas had made themselves at home in the forest off the road that led to one of the mineshafts dotted around the town. According to the Alderman, a middle-aged gentleman with a shock of blonde hair, the endregas had taken to attacking workers if they used the road. Subsequently the men had been diverting through the forest to reach the mine and bypass the nest, fine when you were on foot but impossible terrain for a wagon laden with copper ore. The men refused to move copper from the mine to the quay, which the Alderman easily accepted but he wanted it rectified as quickly as possible as the town had already started falling short of their weekly quotas. After bartering his price up to one hundred and fifty crowns – endrega nests were bastards - Geralt continued down to the quay.

A bustling area of the town, quayhands were unloading and reloading boats. Crates of copper ore and other metals were stacked high to be sent down the Pontar, sacks of flour, crates of potatoes and other goods were stacked equally high to be taken into town. The air was thick with the shouts of men working hard and the smell of them. Geralt didn’t dally, heading straight for the Quaymasters office.

“Greetings,” he said upon entering. A small, balding man wearing glasses looked up at him from behind a desk covered in ledgers, with no less than three abacuses balanced precariously on and around the books. 

“A Witcher...Have you been to see the Alderman?” the man asked sharply, narrowing his gaze at Geralt. Geralt took no offence, he was used to it.

“Yes, I’m going to deal with the endregas once I’m done here.”

“Good, those bastard overgrown spiders have been disrupting trade for too long. What did you want?”

Geralt crossed his arms, repressing a twitch at endregas being referred to as _spiders_ , and asked, “The Serendipity, has she docked recently?”

The man started moving the ledgers around, making a pile so high Geralt was stunned that it hadn’t yet toppled, it was so haphazardly stacked. Upon finding the one he’d apparently been looking for, the Quaymaster started flicking through the pages, stopping quite near the back.

“The Serendipity?” he asked, looking at Geralt over the top of his glasses. Geralt nodded his head in confirmation. “She docked for three hours, four days ago, carrying various bolts fabrics for the town and then left laden with tin and copper. She should return in one week with a shipment of root vegetables. Is that what you wanted?”

“Was the Master Jaskier aboard her?” 

“How would I know?” 

“Well, who would know?” 

“The men on shift when the Serendipity was alongside, I suppose.”

“Who were…?”

“Well that’s a different ledger entirely, maybe a few crowns could persuade me to find it for you.”

Geralt pressed his lips together and ground his teeth. He debated casting a quick Axii but he liked it in Hagge, and Jaskier liked the town too so he didn’t want to risk muddying the waters. The Quaymaster appeared to be an intelligent enough man to be able to ascertain that his sudden leap into compliances was because of something Geralt had done to him. His fingers twitched to do it, but he knew it wasn’t worth the risk. So, he reached into his coin purse and dropped a couple of crowns onto the table without complaint.

“Come back this time tomorrow and I’ll have a list of names for you. Provided, of course, that the spiders have been dealt with by then.”

Geralt’s nostrils flared and he moved to take a step forward but thought better of it. Nothing would come of trying to intimidate a man who had been looking up at him but also looking down his nose at Geralt at the same time. He likely wanted a reason not to help him so without another word, Geralt turned on his heel and left, anger simmering in his chest. 

He trudged unhappily back to the inn, stomach twisting itself into knots as he wondered about Jaskier. Had he been on Serendipity when she docked days previously or not? Geralt hoped he hadn’t been, hoped that Jaskier would appear when the boat brought its next haul up the river from Oxenfurt and resolutely didn’t consider any other ideas.

After retrieving Roach’s saddle from his room, he proceeded to the stable yard and tacking Roach up. The bay watched over the half wall between the stables, what started as a low nicker as he was putting on her saddle soon grew into a frantic whinny as Geralt buckled the throat latch on her bridle. 

“What’s the matter?” Geralt asked softly, crossing the distance to the half wall in a few quick strides. He placed one hand on the bay’s neck and gently ran the knuckles of his other hand across his cheek and jaw. Slowly it settled under his touch. “I’m just going to deal with some endregas. I promise I’ll be back to give you dinner.” 

The horse nickered again and nudged its nose into Geralt’s chest. Some of the anger he’d been feeling since his meeting with the Quaymaster abated as he wrapped his arms around the bay’s neck and pressed his cheek to that soft coat, breathing in the wonderfully familiar smell of horse. Behind him Roach snorted reproachfully.

“Oh, don’t be jealous,” he smiled, moving to Roach and giving her the same treatment, “You’ll always be my best girl,” he whispered, lowering one of his hands from his neck to scratch the favourite spot on her chest. 

He checked her girth again, told the bay he’d see him later and then led Roach out of her stable, bolted the door behind him and then swung himself up into the saddle. The ride out to the endrega nest didn’t take long, their cloying scent easily discernible from the road.

Geralt dismounted and ground tied Roach just off the road. Remnants of anger still coursed through him so Geralt knelt, taking a few moments to meditate, to clear his mind, to push his emotions behind the barrier the mutagens provided. He could only think of the fight ahead now. 

Calm at last, he rummaged through his saddlebags, pulling out potion bottles and slipping them into his belt, along with his remaining Dancing Star bomb. He wished he had a Northern Wind, but he hadn’t thought to make any more after he’d used his last since he’d already started his journey to Kaer Morhen at the time, something Vesemir would not be finding out. After coating his silver blade with insectoid oil Geralt moved silently into the underbrush.

Endrega nests could be tricky. If Geralt was lucky the Dancing Star bomb would flush most if not all of them out and then enraged by the screams of her colony, the queen would haul herself above ground to face him head on. If Geralt was unlucky he would be spending a good portion of the afternoon underground, knocking back Cat like it was good vodka.

Geralt followed their scent and after a few hundred metres his ears picked up the high pitch chitter the workers used to communicate. The sound grated.

He started moving even more covertly, using the trees for cover, keeping his steps so light they wouldn’t feel the impacts of them in the tunnels below him. When their incessant chittering grew so loud Geralt wanted to scream, he downed a vial of Blizzard and set himself upon the drones that were guarding the nest entrance.

-oOo-

Geralt stood back, flames from the pile of dead endregas warming his face in the setting sun. He had not been lucky.

Looking down, he noticed some fresh gouges in his thigh, one of the warriors had caught him with their bastard tail. It was bleeding sluggishly, rather than pouring, thanks to the Swallow, his head tilted as he continued to stare at it, trying to decide whether he’d need to bind it. With confidence wrought from eighty years of experience Geralt knew it was going to hurt later, and it was going to hurt a lot. At least it still wouldn’t hurt when he poured White Gull onto it later though, if he didn’t pass first. Geralt pulled his gaze away from his injured leg, picked up the queen’s head and walked back to Roach, pulling a bottle of White Honey from his belt and sipping it as he walked back, he’d drank _a lot_ of Cat.

Once he reached Roach, he lashed the head to her saddle and then he pulled the necessary supplies from her saddlebags to clean his sword. As he went about his task, Vesemir’s words rang in his head - “A witcher can forget to eat, to drink, to breathe, even, but a witcher never, ever forgets to care for his blade.” - as they always did, despite the long years since he’d actually last heard them leave the man’s mouth. Finally, when his silver sword was clean and oiled, Geralt untied Roach and hauled himself up into the saddle.

Contract complete Geralt finally let his thoughts return to Jaskier as he rode back to town.

If Jaskier had been there, he would have cleaned and bound Geralt’s leg when he returned to the inn. Geralt heaved a sigh, gaze slipping back to the injury, still bleeding and possibly deeper than he first thought, he was going to have to bind it. Geralt much preferred it when Jaskier took care of him, caring for himself after a fight was a chore at best.

Geralt would never allow himself to be injured on purpose but he had to admit - if only to himself - that Jaskier tending to him, taking care of him, was always a silver lining to any injury he sustained. He had fond memories of the time a rotfiend had managed to break his dominant hand. Fighting one handed had been hard but Geralt had managed, helped along by the species bizarre tendency to explode upon imminent death. 

He’d even deigned to visit a healer - having two function hands was quite important in his line of work after all - but it had still taken two weeks to heal. Two glorious weeks of Jaskier looking after him. Geralt pretended to huff and moan his way through it but really, he’d loved every second of it. He’d even had Jaskier shave him at one point, there was no one else Geralt trusted to hold a blade against his throat. It had left him utterly boneless with pleasure while also being one of the most erotic things he’d ever experienced.

Jaskier was not waiting for him back at the inn, the disappointment tasted bitter on the back of Geralt’s tongue.

When Geralt had made it to town he rode straight to the Alderman’s only to be told the man was over at the mines carrying out some sort of inspections and wouldn’t be back to sometime yet. The sharp tang of annoyance joined the bitter taste of disappointment in Geralt’s mouth.

When he climbed back into Roach saddle this time he felt the first twinges of pain in his leg, the potions were wearing off and exhaustion was looming steadily closer on the horizon. He turned Roach towards the inn and let his legs hang down rather than placing his feet in the stirrups. 

By the time Geralt had stabled and untacked her the exhaustion had moved from the horizon to hover like a spector over his shoulder. The bay had been happy to see him, although it startled at the sight of his leg. Geralt could only offer a few words of comfort, too tired to be surprised that it was his injury that spooked the horse, not the black veins that were surely still visible around his eyes.

Instead of placing Roach’s saddle over the stable door, Geralt placed it over the half wall between the two stables.

“Do not knock that off,” he warned the bay as he snuffed at the leather. Geralt removed his armour there in the stable, placing it next to Roach’s tack and leaving him only in his shirt. He dug around in the saddlebags for his bottle of White Gull, uncorked with his teeth and then poured it over the gashes on his leg. It nipped but was nowhere near as painful compared to if his system was completely devoid of potions.

He put away the empty bottle and then patted the bay’s forehead. “I’m going to have a nap now,” he told it, whispering conspiratorially as darkness appeared at the edges of his vision.

Feeling utterly knocked off his feet by the potions, Geralt laid down before he could fall down and promptly passed out.

-oOo-

It was dark when Geralt woke. He was stiff, hurting and ravenous but he’d suffered worse. He should have bound his leg before falling asleep, but hindsight was hindsight - utterly useless. After a brief inspection he decided it wouldn’t need stitches, unlike his trousers. Geralt was glad he’d kept that square of leather he’d found in an abandoned house he’d waited out a storm in on his way to Hagge.

He refilled the horse’s hay nets, replenished their water and prepared their dinner on autopilot. Still groggy, he leaned his chest against the bay’s stable door and watched him eat, wishing Jaskier was waiting for him in his room. 

Even as the bay finished his meal Geralt continued to watch, lacking the energy to go inside. Going inside would mean talking to people, having a bath, washing his armour _again_ , before the endrega blood really started to smell. Much too much effort for him at that moment, he was perfectly content with the horses, they didn’t care that he still had endrega blood on his face. If _only_ Jaskier was there to take care of him. 

Instead of returning to his hay net, as Roach had done once she’d finished her meal, the bay lifted his head over Geralt’s shoulder and then gently rested its jaw on Geralt’s back. Wonderful warmth seeped through his shirt.

“Hello, lovely,” Geralt murmured, carding his fingers through its soft winter coat and leaning his head into its neck, letting his eyes flutter closed. It nickered softly, making Geralt’s heart feel like it had doubled in size. By the time Geralt slipped out from the bay’s pseudo embrace the moon was high in the sky and Geralt was ready to pass out again. 

He murmured his goodnight to Roach and the bay, collected his swords, armour and Roach’s tack and limped into the inn. He ordered a bath and asked for food to be brought to his room using as few words as possible. After eating his meal without really paying attention to it and giving himself, his clothes and his armour a perfunctory wash, Geralt bound his leg and collapsed into bed.

-oOo-

After taking the queen’s head to the Alderman the next morning and receiving his payment, Geralt walked back down to the quay, much slower than he had the previous day thanks to his leg. The Quaymaster had the promised list for him, handing it over when Geralt slammed the queen’s head onto the table. Geralt took great satisfaction in leaving it behind, ignoring the man’s irate calls for him to remove it at once. He then spent the rest of his day tracking down the workmen who’d been on shift when the Serendipity docked. Most were a bust but one of the last men Geralt spoke to, late in the afternoon, remembered Jaskier after a moment’s thought.

“I remember ‘im, Master Witcher,” he nodded, he was chewing tobacco and the smell was making Geralt nauseous. “Disembarked and only got halfway up the dock when he was accosted by two women. He looked mighty apologetic when he was speaking to them. We’ve all heard tales of the bards womanising ways so I thought one of ‘em must be a spurned love or something. The other was the mage that lives out in the woods, I’m sure of it.” 

“What did they do?” Geralt asked, the words spat out through gritted teeth. His usually slow heart rate was picking up speed and something cold had lodged itself behind his sternum.

“They all walked off together, although the Master Bard didn’t look all that happy about it.”

“This mage, where does she live?” 

“About a two hour ride out of the town. Take the western entrance, then turn onto the third path you come across on the right, follow the path and you’ll get there eventually.” 

“Thanks,” Geralt grunted, he went to turn away when the quayhand coughed pointedly. 

“I ‘elped you, sir, would be nice to get a little in return.” With a sigh Geralt reached into his coin pouch and offered him a few crowns. “Thank you, Master Witcher, sir.” 

As Geralt walked back to the inn the cold feeling that had started in his chest started to spread, by the time he reached his room to collect Roach’s tack he felt entirely numb. His fingers worked on muscle memory as he saddled his mare.

Something had happened to Jaskier. Those two women had led him away to who knows where and one of them was a mage. Jaskier could look after himself but there was only so much anyone could do against a magic user intent on harming you. 

Unbidden his mind produced an image of Jaskier lifeless on the forest floor, body bent and broken at unnatural angles while two faceless women stood over him, one of them holding a doll of Jaskier’s likeness. The image changed to Jaskier tied to a chair while the woman cut him with wicked looking daggers, collecting his blood to use for foul, harmful magic. Another change, and this time one of them was enchanting him into their thrall, making Jaskier carry out horrific deeds, aware the whole time but unable to stop. 

As he slipped her bridle into place his hands began to shake. He had to find Jaskier, and he was going to start at the mages cabin.

After telling the bay he’d be back, he led Roach out of her stable and mounted her, pushing her into a fast walk. He set her trotting as soon as she’d had a chance to warm up, heedless of the strain it was putting on his leg. He was debating taking another dose of Swallow to numb the pain but stopped himself, that would be a waste, he may need the Swallow to defend Jaskier. 

However, when Geralt reached the cabin, worked into such a frenzy he was practically frothing at the mouth, Geralt was met by nothing.

The entire ride he’d imagined harrowing fights and near misses but in the end the place was abandoned. Inside the cabin was cold and had been cleared. The mage had left. A smart move after going after a bard who was notoriously best friends with an infamous witcher.

Geralt kept his panic at bay by focusing his senses. He walked around the cabin, the clearing it sat in and the surrounding woods, sniffing intently but he found no trace of Jaskier. In fact, Geralt found no trace of anything. The mage he was up against was clearly no amateur, she’d removed any trace of herself and any trace of Jaskier. If Jaskier had even been brought to the cabin at all. 

Panic and anger overwhelmed Geralt, replacing his earlier numbness. The emotions so strong they quickly overwhelmed the barrier provided by the mutagens that kept them at bay, that kept him focused.

A few unsatisfying Igni’s turned the cabin into a blazing, crumbling mess and Geralt watched it burn, chest heaving, thoughts spiralling. Something had happened to Jaskier and he didn’t even know where to begin looking for him!

Geralt rode back to the town at a more sedate pace, letting himself wallow in helplessness. By the time he’d returned to the inn, the moon was shining down into the stable yard, easily lighting his way.

As he led her back into the stable, Geralt decided he’d have to ask around the town if anybody had seen where the two women had taken Jaskier. It hadn’t happened that long ago, he could only hope that someone had seen _something_ , even if it was just a general direction that they left the town. Then he could go in search of a scent.

The bay leaned over the half wall and nudged Geralt in the back as he untacked Roach. It reminded him that he still needed to try and find out who he belonged to, another thing to ask the locals. Hagge was a well off town, but he doubted any amongst them were wealthy enough to own a Redanian Thoroughbred, he’d still ask though, maybe an Aedirnian noble had a country manner in the area.

Geralt brushed down the horses and picked their feet before going through the evening routine of refilling their hay nets and water buckets before giving them dinner. 

Once again, Geralt found himself leaning against the stable door, watching the bay eat. “You must be getting restless cooped up in there,” he murmured. The bay lifted its head, food falling out of his mouth as he chewed. Geralt snorted a low laugh and ran his knuckles over that soft nose. “Very lovely, are you enjoying that?”

The horse nickered and went back to his meal. Geralt knew the horse wasn’t directly responding to what he’d said but the bay’s eyes still shone bright with intelligence. Geralt wished them goodnight, his own stomach rumbling.

-oOo-

After completing what was quickly becoming a morning routine with the horses, Geralt set out into town, ignoring the occasional twinge in his leg. He stopped everyone he saw and asked about Jaskier and the bay. No one knew anything about a missing horse, which was the only good thing to come out of traipsing around Hagge until past sunset.

A handful of people had seen Jaskier and the women. It turned out they’d led him out of town in the direction of the mage’s cabin, which Geralt already knew stood empty. After a day of forcing himself to talk to people who either flinched away from him or wouldn’t meet his eyes, Geralt felt exhausted in an entirely completely different way to how he’d felt after destroying the echidna nest when he made it back to inn.

-oOo-

On the fourth morning Geralt awoke in the bed he should have been sharing with Jaskier - still alone, the chill air seeping through the covers - he felt desperation claw at his chest. Geralt didn’t know what to do, something he hated with an abject passion. Unable to think of anything else to do, he laid in bed and stared up at the ceiling, mulling over his options.

Who knew how far away the nearest mage was, and even then, just because a person could use magic did not mean they’d be able to track Jaskier for him. Kaer Morhen, and Yennefer, was still a two week hard ride away but he was loath to leave Hagge in case the mage who’d been seen with Jaskier decided to show her face. A small part of him was hoping that Jaskier would just turn up, completely unharmed and ready to go on their merry way. Jaskier had always had a knack of being able to get himself out of tricky situations and stranger things had happened.

He thought of the xenovox carefully hidden in the bottom of one of Roach’s saddlebags. A gift from Yennefer to Ciri so she would always have a way to contact Geralt no matter where he was on the path. It would probably fit in his coin purse if he stored the coin from the endrega contract in his saddlebags…probably.

Geralt forced himself out of bed to check and after a little bit of teasing managed to fit the xenovox and some coin into the purse. He didn’t think he’d hear from Ciri until he was supposed to turn up at Kaer Mohren in another three weeks and didn’t, but he could still hope.

After dressing and going down into the inn proper for some breakfast, Geralt returned to the room. He donned his armour and swords, picked up Roach’s halter, saddle pad, lead rope and bridle before heading out to the stable yard, a plan forming in his head. Upon reaching the stables he stripped back out of his swords and armour, laying them over the half wall, along with the bridle, headcollar and lead rope, and leaving him in only his shirt and trousers. The plan continued to form as he went through the usual motion of mucking out, refilling hay nets and water buckets.

Morning routine complete, Geralt retrieved the headcollar and lead rope, swung himself over the half wall and slipped it onto the bay before leading him out of the stable and tying him up outside of it. Geralt stood by the bat’s shoulder and patted at his neck for a moment, considering his best course of action.

“Are you broken in, lovely?” he asked. It nickered at him, as seemed to be the norm when he asked it a question. If only it could give him an actual answer.

Geralt crossed the yard and retrieved the wooden mounting block that appeared to live by the gate and placed it down off to the side of but just behind the bay’s front left leg. He ran his hand down the bay’s neck a few times before stepping onto the mounting block and proceeding to run his hands down the bay’s back. When that exhibited no response, he systematically pressed his palms down over the area a saddle would normally sit.

The bay didn’t react to that either.

So, before Geralt could give himself time to _really_ consider what a stupid idea it was to use the old training techniques on a horse he barely knew, rather then raised from a foal - Geralt laid himself over the bay’s back. His hips flush to its spine, just behind its withers, his arms and legs hanging down either side of its flanks, and he murmured gentle praise to the bay the entire time. The bay snorted but otherwise didn’t do anything.

Counting it as a success, and tentatively sure the bay was used to carrying weight on his back, Geralt slid back off the bays back and retrieved the stablehand on duty, the teenager he’d dealt with when he arrived in Hagge. “I’m going to lie across his back,” Geralt explained as they walked back over to the bay, “and I want you to walk him around for me.”

The stablehand nodded in acknowledgement and untied the bay. He sniffed the stablehand wearily but thankfully, made no move to bite him or shy away. Geralt once again resumed his position lying on his front over the bay’s back, wanting slightly more than tentative surety before he sat properly on the bay’s back. “Ready when you are!” he called.

However, when the lad tried to make the bay move, he wouldn’t budge.

“Stop being stubborn,” Geralt tutted, patting the bay's shoulder from his place draped across his back. “Walk on!” he called, tone biting.

At Geralt’s command the bay let the stablehand lead him on a few laps around the yard while Geralt crooned soft words of encouragement the whole time. After a good five minutes, Geralt decided the bay must indeed be broken in and made the stablehand bring him to a halt. He slipped gratefully from the bay’s back – there was only so long even a witcher could be upside down before it was uncomfortable - and thanked the stablehand, slipping him a crown as he took the lead rope.

“Right,” Geralt said, turning to face the inquisitive eyes of the bay, lifting a hand to stroke that brown cheek. “I don’t have a saddle for you, but Roach’s bridle should adjust. Hopefully you don’t need anything stronger than a snaffle otherwise I might be a little bit fucked.” He led the bay back to his stable. “We’re going for a walk, isn’t that exciting! Nothing harder though, trotting bareback is not something I enjoy.” 

Once inside, Geralt slipped off the head collar and retrieved Roach’s bridle, the bay happily tucking into his hay. After a few alterations - the bay’s head was longer than Roach’s but it had a slightly thinner nose - Geralt took hold of his head and pressed the bit to the bay’s lips. He didn’t take it straight away so Geralt rubbed the metal against the bay’s teeth. It had the desired effect, the bay opened his mouth and Geralt deftly slipped the bridle into place, making sure the crown sat comfortably behind his ears. 

As the bay tried to tongue the bit back out of his mouth, Geralt double checked the alterations and decided they were satisfactory. He then grabbed Roach’s saddle pad and laid it over the bay’s back - there was no reason he had to be completely uncomfortable - donned his armour and swords and led the bay back into the yard.

“Now, I’ll be slightly heavier than I was when I was only lying on you,” Geralt informed him, “but big boy such as yourself? I have great faith you’ll be able to deal with an armoured witcher.”

The mounting block was where he left it, so Geralt walked the bay slightly past it. With reins still in hand, mounted the bay as carefully and as gently as he possibly could without the aid of stirrups.

The bay snorted a few times, side stepping. “It’s alright,” Geralt murmured, patting the bay’s neck. “It’s not bad at all is it? I promise my arse will be much worse for wear after this then your back will be.” 

Once the bay had settled, Geralt nudged it gently with his heels, murmured a firm, “Walk on,” and they were off!

He didn’t say more than a few soothing words to the bay as they walked through Hagge. It startled a few times, nothing major, nothing that would leave Geralt on the street. The bay swung his head from side to side as they walked, taking in everything around them and Geralt let him, seeing no harm in it. 

As Geralt rode the bay through the streets he concluded that he seemed to respond better to verbal commands than to a touch of a heel or a pull on the rein. A strange way to train a horse but it appeared to work at a walking pace, so he paid it little mind.

They left Hagge via the eastern road, Geralt immediately turned them into the forest that surrounded the town until he reached the banks of the Pontar and then he turned them back around again to start his first track line. His plan, simple as it was, was to cut a semi-circular path around Hagge, making each track wider than the last. The idea was to cover as much ground around the town as possible, searching for any trace of Jaskier while he waited for Ciri to contact him on the xenovox. Wherever Geralt stopped for the night, he’d mark and then pick up from that spot the following day.

Once they were well under way Geralt started sporadically talking to the bay - as he usually would with Roach – first he explained what they were doing and why. After another stretch of silence, he told the bay some of his favourite Jaskier adventures, as he’d dubbed them in his head. Times when Geralt had arrived to save Jaskier just in the nick of time, being ambushed on the road and fighting back to back, the way they shared everything while on the path together - clothes, food, women. 

“I never really paid attention to any of the women we share though, not really. Really, I’d be paying attention to him,” he admitted quietly, patting the bay on the neck when it nickered at him.

The sun crossed the sky, as it always did and always would, and Geralt told the bay about how much he adored wintering at Kaer Morhen with Jaskier, how the man brought so much life back to the drafty old keep. A stream cut across their path and it took a bit of tempting but Geralt managed to coax the bay through it. On the other side he let the bay lower his head for a drink. They crossed the stream a few more times as they continued to track steadily wider semi-circles around Hagge. 

After hours of searching, the sun firmly set and still having found no sign or scent of Jaskier, Geralt dismounted. He pulled the reins over the bay’s head and hooked them in the crook of his elbow, unlaced his breeches and began pissing on the nearest tree. Scent always made the best marker.

The bay nickered at him, nudging Geralt’s back with his nose and making him lurch forwards. Geralt barely managed to avoid getting his own piss on his boots.

“Hey!” he grumbled, turning to glare at the bay as he finished, hastily putting himself back into his trousers and tying the laces. The bay threw his head up and down, as if it was laughing at him. “Oh, you think that’s funny, do you?”

The bay nickered and nudged him again, much gentler this time. Geralt pressed his fingers to that soft muzzle. “It’s alright, I forgive you,” he murmured, lips turning up at the corners. 

Geralt found a reasonable sized rock, used it as a mounting block and then cut a path straight back to Hagge. It didn’t take long to reach the town, people walked around him going about their evening business, torches lighting their way every few metres. It made Geralt painfully aware that the days were only getting shorter and the closer it came to Yule the harder it would be to reach Kaer Morhen. He only hoped he found Jaskier before the mountain pass closed.

Roach stuck her head out over her stable door when he rode back into the yard, whinnying at him.

“Yes, I know you don’t like being left behind,” he said, dismounting and leading the bay into his own stable. She stuck her head over the half wall, tried to bite the bay – who dodged nimbly aside - and then started nudging Geralt. 

Roach didn’t like the bay and neither had any of the other horses who’d stayed on the other side of the bay’s stable. Geralt had been observing the bay with the other horses and he’d put the dislike down to body language. The bay didn’t seem to communicate the way other horses did, didn’t use his ears at all, so it was unsurprising that he couldn’t seem to make friends.

It tugged at Geralt’s heart. The bay tried. Geralt had seen him trying to groom Roach while he’d been mucking out the stable the previous morning, and he’d also tried with the black mare that had been in the adjacent stable the night before. None of them would let him close though. 

“Don’t mind her,” he whispered to the bay as he slipped the bridle off, “I know how lovely you really are, even if she doesn’t appreciate you.” The bay shook his head and went straight for the hay net Geralt had filled that morning. 

Roach started stomping her front feet so Geralt nimbly swung himself over the half wall and started lavishing her with the attention she clearly wanted. He made sure to scratch her favourite spots and after telling them he’d be back, slipped out of her stable, taking the bridle with him. After rinsing the bit at the water trough, he bound into the inn and up the stairs, dumped the bridle, his swords and his armour on the bed, leaving him in just his white shirt and grabbed her brushes. 

He was halfway to the inn’s front door when someone walked past with a bowl of stew. Hunger quickly got the better of him, so Geralt quickly scoffed down a bowl of his own, downed a tankard of mead and was out the door, crossing the yard at a clip. Depositing the brushes just inside of the stable door, Geralt went about his usual evening routine and once both horses were fed started brushing Roach down.

Once she’d finished her dinner, Roach relaxed into the groom. One of her back legs was in a relaxed position and her lower lip hung down, quivering occasionally when he brushed over a particularly nice spot.

It was quiet. Geralt was the only one in the yard, the other horses had all been seen too. He liked it, enjoyed the sounds the other horses made, chewing through hay nets and occasionally snorting. It was peaceful, or as close to peaceful as Geralt ever got when he was on the path without Jaskier.

Jaskier…

“I’m so worried about him, Roach,” Geralt murmured, stopping his brushing to rest his forehead against Roach’s warm shoulder, inhaling a lungful of the smoky horse scent that had always calmed him.

Sure enough, it helped. It didn’t completely erase the anxiety, but it certainly helped to push it back a few steps, back behind the protective barrier of his mutagens. After a moment of listening and scenting he went back to work.

Once he’d brushed every part of Roach’s body, he started gently combing through her mane and tail before picking her feet. Roach tended to, Geralt crossed the diving wall into the bay’s stable.

“Your turn now, love-” But as Geralt landed with barely a sound against the straw bed, he was drawn to a halt at the sight of the bay laid down, legs tucked underneath him, head up but eyelids drooping. It made warmth bloom in Geralt’s chest.

“I’ll brush you tomorrow morning,” Geralt whispered. Then with great care, so as not to disturb him, Geralt walked around him and slowly lowered himself down into a seated position, back against the stable wall, legs out in front of him, so that if the bay lowered his head it would rest in Geralt’s lap. 

“You’re very welcome to,” he smiled, patting his knees. The bay stared at him for a long moment before slowly lowering his head. Such an intelligent creature. Geralt started stroking the bay’s cheek and jaw with one hand while the other pulled the bind from his still plaited forelock and released the hair, carding his fingers through it and scratching at the bay’s scalp. 

“I’m glad no one has come forward to claim you,” Geralt murmured to it, chin tilted down so he could look into that beautiful brown eye. “You’re coming with us to Kaer Morhen. I wonder if we could get you a saddle on the way. The journey would go faster with Jaskier on horseback too, but he’ll bemoan riding bareback.” 

Geralt watched as the bay’s eye opened and closed slowly, clearly fighting sleep, his big chest rising and falling in a rhythm so soothing Geralt’s lids started drooping. “I know I said I’d let my bard name you, but I think we should just call you Lovely, because you’re so lovely.” 

The bay let out a quiet huff of breath, making Geralt smile. “I see you agree… You should have met my bard by now, but I can’t find him,” he said. Geralt knew he’d made similar overtures to the bay already but that anxious little bubble was once again making itself known, forcing him to voice thoughts he usually didn’t dwell on.

“I’ve made my peace with many things…” he continued. “I’ll only get to have him by my side for another few scant decades and even then, it’ll be as a friend rather than as a lover…not that I deserve his love, especially after the mountain. I’ve settled on making sure he's old and grey when I say my final goodbye to him. So, I just have to find him, Lovely, because not only have I not been able to say goodbye, but it’s too soon.”

Geralt let himself fall sideways, curling his body to rest the side of his head against the bay’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around his muscular neck and inhaling his scent. It made his heart twist in his chest. “You were definitely meant for Jaskier,” he said, laughing wetly at the awful familiarity of scent’s undertones. Because somehow, underneath the usual smoky horse scent was something he hadn’t noticed until he had his nose shoved in the crease between the bay’s neck and shoulder. A light citrus that he’d never smelt on anyone other than Jaskier. 

He stayed there for a long time, slipping into sleep at some point. Geralt woke as the moon was reaching her zenith. Lovely was awake, snuffling at Geralt's neck and hair. He lifted his hands and cupped the soft nose pressing into his neck and nudged his own nose into the soft skin and inhaling, revelling in the scent.

Sleep still pulling at his body, Geralt stumbled to his feet and out of the stable towards the inn.

-oOo-

Geralt spent another week continuing his ever widening track around Hagge, taking turns using Roach and Lovely. Still, he found no trace of Jaskier. Worry clawed relentlessly at his stomach. He’d stopped tasting his food, merely ate out of habit and barely even spoke to the horses anymore.

While out riding Roach one cold sunny morning some miles from the town when his medallion began to twitch and then Ciri’s voice sounded through the xenovox, still stuffed in his coin purse. It was the best thing he’d heard since arriving in Hagge.

“Geralt? Geralt?”

“I’m here,” he said, turning Roach away from the track they were on and back towards town. After a bit of fumbling he managed to pull the xenovox out of the purse, holding it near his face.

“Good, I just wanted to check you and Jaskier hadn’t been caught in the storm at the bottom of the valley, it’s really-”

“Ciri, I’m still in Hagge,” he told her, easing Roach into a trot.

“What? Why?” 

“Jaskier hasn’t arrived. I’ve been searching for him but haven’t found anything. Think you could send Yen my way, please? The last the townspeople saw of him, he was being dragged into the woods with a mage.”

“Well fuck a duck with a buck.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Lambert,” he groused. “I’m on my way back to Hagge now, shouldn’t be more than an hour. Been staying at The Black Bear.”

“I’ll ask her now,” there was a pause, he could hear her footsteps, then, “Geralt, I’m sure he’s fine. Jaskier’s slipperier than a drowner’s back and he always lands on his feet.” 

He couldn’t bring himself to answer that with words, so he hummed in response and bid her thanks. His medallion stopped twitching and he urged Roach into a steady canter, stuffing the xenovox back in his coin purse.

-oOo-

Geralt was on the western road and half way back to town when a portal appeared ahead of him. He stilled Roach, eyeing it wearily but relaxing when the scent of Yennefer’s magic reached him. Moments later the sorceress herself stepped through, a vision in black and white and somehow managing to make thigh high boots look _practical_.

“Ciri tells me your bard has gone walkabout,” she said by way of greeting, closing the distance between them.

“He’s not my bard,” Geralt retorted through gritted teeth, heart twisting painfully. An old argument, but one that still cut. What those words implied, it would never be like that between them, and hearing them always reminded him of that.

“Semantics,” she griped, waving her hand at him. “There was mage involvement?”

“Yes.” When she reached him, Geralt held a hand out to her and helped her gracefully seat herself behind him in the saddle. “There’s a cabin, about an hour from here, I couldn’t detect anything when I searched the place.” 

“Let’s start there then.” Once Yennefer had placed her hands on his waist, Geralt nudged Roach into a fast walk.

“You’re being awfully agreeable,” he commented. Goading Yennefer was never a good idea and he needed her help but an argument with her would take his mind off Jaskier, even if only for a little while. Besides that, Ciri loved Jaskier, so Yennefer would help no matter how Geralt behaved, although a small part of him did reason that getting her back up before they’d even reach Kaer Morhen was probably not a good idea.

However, Yennefer didn’t rise, seeing right through him as usual. It annoyed him, and she knew it would annoy him, which annoyed him even more. Instead she told him about the magical training Ciri had been undertaking, a conversation that, thankfully, didn’t require much input from him. 

When they rode into the cabin clearing, Yennefer’s hands tightened on his waist. “Was that your doing?” she hissed, fingers slipped underneath his armour so she could dig her nails into his skin in displeasure. He made sure not to react to it.

Geralt had left the cabin burning after his first visit, now all that remained was a blacked husk. He brought Roach at a halt and stared at it. “Maybe.” 

“If there was any trace of magic here you burned it away with your dramatics.” 

“Jaskier is missing!” He turned sharply to look over his shoulder, glaring down at her. 

“I’m aware,” she snapped. After removing her nails from his skin, Yennefer continued, still waspish, “But your momentary lapse of control has destroyed any chance of discovering a lead here.”

Geralt faced forward, jaw clenched and pushed Roach back into a walk, leaving the cabin behind. 

His thoughts raced. If there had been anything at the cabin that could have led Yennefer to Jaskier, it had been lost through Geralt’s own actions. If they couldn’t find Jaskier, it was his fault. Anguish clawed at his stomach and he sat rigidly in the saddle, self-flagellating by replaying the dreadful images his mind had provided all those days ago, of Jaskier hurt or worse. 

“Do you have anything of his that I can use as part of a locator spell?” Yennefer asked, not unkindly, breaking the tense silence between them.

“Yes,” Geralt grunted, thoughts turning to the ring safely tucked away in the saddlebag hanging behind his right thigh. 

Jaskier didn’t know he had it, it wasn’t one of Jaskier’s favourite rings, he wouldn’t have taken any of those. It was a simple thing, silver, with a single buttercup engraved on it. Geralt had taken it three years prior, again in Oxenfurt to spend the solstice with the bard, and he couldn’t bear the idea of leaving without Jaskier. However, he’d known he had to leave, and he’d known he would not be leaving with Jaskier, so he’d swiped the ring to take a little bit of Jaskier with him. 

“Do you want it now?” he asked.

“No, I can’t cast the spell travelling like this.”

Silence fell between them and once again Geralt’s mind took him down a path of pain and worry. He couldn’t stop thinking about Jaskier. What if Geralt never got to see him smile again? Or hear him sing? Or scent him? And it would all be his fault.

When they reached Hagge, the high noon sun was just strong enough to feel but it did nothing to warm the cold that had steadily turned Geralt’s insides to ice on the ride back. Upon entering the yard, Lovely appeared above his stable door, kicking it and whinnying loud and long. He pulled Roach to a halt and let Yennefer dismount before doing so himself. 

Roach walked herself to the water trough and started to drink, and he followed her, keeping a loose hold on her reins in case he decided to walk herself into the feed room. “What’s the matter?” he called to the almost frantic bay.

Much to Geralt’s surprise, Yennefer made a beeline for Lovely and he watched as she stripped off her gloves and started running her hands down his face and neck. Geralt knew Yennefer liked horses, but not enough to calm one she’d never met. However, now Geralt watched in disbelief as she did just that, Lovely slowly settling under her touch. 

Roach had drunk her fill, Geralt almost had her back to her stable when Yen asked, “Whose horse is this?” She still didn’t turn to look at him but her tone suggested she found something hilarious.

“He’s called Lovely. I found him on my way into town,” he answered, opening Roach’s stable door and leading her inside. “Let me find Jaskier’s ring.”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” she snorted. She was looking at him over the half wall from Lovely’s stable door and Geralt could see her shoulders shaking with repressed mirth. 

“What do you mean? Of course it’s necessary!” He growled, in no mood for any kind of humour or frivolity. He started rummaging through the correct saddlebag.

“Oh, don’t get your smalls in a twist,” she smirked. “Jaskier is right here.” Yennefer started scratching in the itchy spot in Lovely’s mane and he nickered lowly. Her eyes were verging on gleeful, she found the situation so clearly amusing. 

He looked up from the saddlebag and stared at Yennefer for a long moment. “This isn’t the time for games,” he growled, anger bubbling in his stomach. Surely Jaskier couldn’t have been right under his nose the entire time Geralt had been in Hagge?

“You know I’m not playing one,” she simpered, smirk growing wider. 

Geralt swore and looked away, stared at his hands disappearing into the cloth bag. She wasn’t lying, he knew with terrible certainty, but the truth made him balk. He flicked his gaze between Lovely and Yennefer, heart pounding as he struggled to really comprehend the situation.

What? How? Why?

Geralt’s mind whirled as he started untacking Roach without another word. Things fell in place in his head. Lovely’s intelligence, his inability to understand nonverbal commands but comprehension of spoken ones, his inability to communicate with other horses, his _scent_.

Lovely moved away from Yen to push his head over the half wall. He nudged at Geralt as he lifted the saddle from Roach’s back. Geralt ignored him. 

The things he’d said…

“How?” Geralt managed to choke out when Yen appeared at Roach’s stable door.

“A simple curse, a prank really. It would have worn off in another few days,” she shrugged, chuckling.

“My medallion didn’t sense anything,” he growled as he placed Roach’s saddle over the stable door with a little more force than needed and then moved to take off her bridle. 

“I said the curse was simple, not that the mage who cast it was.” Yennefer raised an eyebrow at him, taking stock of his expression and more than likely reading the surface thoughts swirling around his head. “Have you been letting your mouth run away with you by any chance? You always were at your most talkative then when faced with a horse.”

Geralt didn’t deign to answer but his silence was answer enough. Yennefer fell against the stable door laughing helplessly. 

After placing the bridle over her saddle, Geralt glared at a still laughing Yennefer and turned to Lovely. He was looking at Geralt almost expectantly. He approached the half wall and leaned over it, so he could watch what he was about to ask, it was always good to double check after all.

“If you are really Jaskier,” Geralt said, “stamp your right front hoof three times.”

Three stomps.

Geralt swore again, even more colourfully than the last time, and backed away, placing a hand on Roach’s back for support. His legs felt weak at the intensity of the relief that passed through him, washing away the ice that had settled in him. Jaskier was safe and had been safe the entire time. However, the relief quickly turned into nausea. 

“You said it was a simple curse. Could you break it?” he asked.

An almost mischievous glint appeared in her eyes then, a look that Geralt knew to fear. “Of course I could,” she smirked, “but I’m not going too.” Geralt let out a low warning growl which she ignored completely. “Why should I expend energy when you could break it the old-fashioned way?”

“That won’t work,” he gritted out.

“Of course it will.”

“No, it won’t, the feeling has to be mutual!”

“It is! And it has been for years! You’re just so bloody obtuse I sometimes wonder if you’re being willfully ignorant, since apparently in your head that’s somehow preferable to being _happy_ wi-”

“Shut up!” Geralt snarled, turning away to rest his forehead on Roach’s neck and letting his eyes fall closed, pushing back anger and panic that were so strong it felt like he’d never been through the trials at all.

“You know what you need to do,” she said, voice tart, clearly unimpressed by his outburst.

“I fucking hate you sometimes,” Geralt grumbled, still not lifting his head

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t,” he sighed.

“Surely, you should be pleased. It’s going to solve a lot of your problems in one fell swoop… or should I say one fell kiss.”

“It’s not going to solve anything,” he snarled, turning his head to glare at her.

Jaskier didn’t love him, not the way Geralt loved him. So what if Jaskier sometimes smelt of desire when Geralt was bathing in a river? Or that sometimes when he was deep in his cups Jaskier would press kisses to Geralt’s cheeks, just shy of touching his lips? It didn’t mean anything!

Jaskier regularly expressed how much Geralt meant to him but he’d always been talking about the friendship, the _companionship_ they provided each other. That was not the same as being in love with someone. Especially after the incident on the mountain, something Geralt was still ashamed of despite Jaskier promising many times over that he’d forgiven Geralt. After he’d treated Jaskier so appallingly, how could he possibly expect Jaskier to feel more than careful friendship for him. 

“We shall see.”

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” he asked. Muted dread twisted Geralt’s as he moved away from Roach and jumped over the half wall between the stables, he eyed Jaskier wearily. 

“Perhaps,” Yennefer laughed, appearing at Jaskier's stable door. 

Geralt stood in front of Jaskier, swore a little more for good measure, took a fortifying breath and took Jaskier’s fur covered cheeks in his hand. He pushed upwards, making Jaskier lift his head up higher so Geralt was eye level with his mouth. 

“This isn’t going to work,” he said again, knowing he was digging his heels and putting off the inevitable but unable to stop himself. Geralt wasn’t ready for the pain that was to follow this farce. And upon learning of his feelings, Geralt doubted Jaskier would even come to Kaer Morhen with him. Geralt wouldn’t be surprised if he hopped on the next boat that was sailing back to Oxenfurt when this didn’t work, and Yennefer finally changed him back into a human.

“Get on with it!” 

Geralt bit back a retort about supporting friends in times of need and took one last wary glance up into Jaskier’s brown eyes. Wasn’t that strange, Jaskier with brown eyes…

Unable to put it off any longer, Geralt squeezed his own eyes closed and pressed a soft kiss to Jaskier’s horse lips. They were soft and warm and huge and Geralt felt very strange as he pulled back, he kissed Roach all the time but not on the lips.

Geralt kept his eyes closed, not letting go of Jaskier as the smell of ozone built in the air and his medallion started to twitch. The fur under Geralt’s palms began to recede, and he could hear Jaskier’s heartbeat changing, quickening as the organ became smaller, human sized. Jaskier’s scent changed, the smoky horse smell fading away and leaving behind his normal sandalwood and citrus scent that Geralt loved. 

The ozone smell in the air dissipated. Geralt was almost numb with shock. He couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes.

The tips of his fingers were threaded into Jaskier’s hair and he could feel at least two week’s worth of beard under his palms now. Holding Jaskier’s head in place Geralt tipped his head forward and gently pressed his forehead to Jaskier’s. 

He felt Jaskier’s fingers brush against the backs of his palms and only then did he finally open his eyes. The blue eyes that gazed back at him shone with hope and joy. 

“Geralt…” Jaskier breathed, his voice croaky from lack of use.

At the sound of his name, Geralt let go of Jaskier’s cheeks, and stumbled backwards, away, on the verge of being overwhelmed. The shock was wearing off but now everything else was pressing down on him - joy, wonder, astonishment, relief - and Geralt felt like a dam on the verge of collapse, one more drop of water and it would all be over.

Jaskier followed him. Geralt became aware of Jaskier’s nakedness. It shocked him for a moment as his eyes flicked over those broad shoulders, a chest thick with brown hair, his soft stomach… then stopped himself from looking any lower, his cheeks growing hot. Of course Jaskier was naked, his clothes would have been shredded during the initial transformation. 

He let his gaze return to Jaskier’s eyes, breath catching at the depth of emotion he could see in them. How had he not seen it before?

Behind him he heard Yennefer snort a derisive comment about true love’s kiss and how stupid he was, and it all became too much. The dam cracked, flooding the valley below. Geralt turned on his heel and bolted.

-oOo

Geralt found himself sitting on the banks of the Pontar upriver from Hagge, although he wasn’t sure how far upriver he was or how long he’d been running for. It was mid-afternoon and the ground was cold under his arse but he ignored it, staring at the slowly moving water and trying his best not to think about what had happened. No matter how hard he tried though his thoughts always circled back to the look in Jaskier’s eyes before Geralt had ran.

The only time and place he’d ever allowed himself to entertain the idea that Jaskier returned his feelings were in his wildest fantasies. And even though it was true, Jaskier did return his feelings, Geralt still couldn’t quite wrap his head around it. For so long, so many years he’d resigned himself to quietly loving Jaskier, taking any and all touches he was given, asking nothing in return. But everything would be different now, for the better too, he hoped.

Because the fact of the matter was, true love was a two way street. To lift a curse the feeling had to be mutual. So, even if he wanted too - which he didn’t - Geralt could not deny what Jaskier felt for him, otherwise he’d still be a horse and Yen would be working on the counter.

Still, it would take him a little while longer for it to really sink in. Shame roiled in Geralt’s stomach at the thought of his flight. He should have stayed with Jaskier, but he needed time to process, alone, and despite their bickering, Yennefer and Jaskier got on very well. So, he sat by the river and watched the water pass.

-oOo-

The sun was setting, and Geralt was considering heading back into town to face Jaskier. They needed to talk about what had happened. He was pleased, like Yennefer said he would be, even though Geralt would rather bite his tongue off then tell her she was right about it. As far as declarations went, there surely wasn’t anything grander or more sweeping than true love’s kiss and Jaskier was the greatest romantic he knew. He just had to hope Jaskier wasn’t too mad at him for running off.

Geralt had just climbed to his feet when his medallion twitched. A portal opened, some ten feet away and smelling of Yennefer’s magic. After a beat, Jaskier stepped through and it closed behind him.

Jaskier was clothed now, in a purple and black silk doublet with matching pants and black boots, something Yennefer had created for him then. Geralt could smell his soap on Jaskier’s skin - it made Geralt's heart flutter - and he’d shaved.

“How did you find me?” Geralt asked when Jaskier drew to a halt a few feet in front of him. His fingers itched to reach out and touch him but he kept them down at his sides

“You’re still carrying the xenovox,” Jaskier explained, the sound of his voice made Geralt’s stomach twist, he’d missed hearing it. Geralt raised a hand and let it fall over the coin purse under his armour. “It was easy enough for Yen to track it.” 

“I’ll find the mage who did that to you-” But Jaskier cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“I don’t care about that,” he said firmly. “She was the friend of a woman who I courted for a week and then dropped after promising her the world. She was just doing it to make her friend feel a little better. Neither of them hurt me, and if she hadn’t done it I’d have never have found out you… I wouldn’t say I was grateful but for once I think I can put aside what happened without seeking revenge.”

Geralt nodded, accepting. “I’m sorry I ran away,” he murmured, forcing himself to hold Jaskier’s gaze so he’d see how sincere he was.

Jaskier’s eyes softened. “I’d have been more worried if you hadn’t run,” a wry grin pulled at his lips, “and I had good faith that you’d come back eventually, I was just getting bored. Let’s walk back to town.” He slipped his hand into the crook of Geralt’s right elbow, and started walking, leaving Geralt the only option of walking with him. After a few paces, Geralt raised his free hand, crossing it over his body to entangle their fingers. The contact made his heart beat a little faster.

They walked in silence for a little while. It was nice, companionable. Jaskier liked talking but he’d admitted to Geralt some ten years into their friendship that he also liked that he never felt the need to fill the silence around Geralt, the way he did around most others. Geralt knew Jaskier would break the silence eventually though, and he didn’t disappoint.

“So,” he said, turning his head to smile at Geralt, “I was a horse.”

“You were.”

“And while I was a horse you unknowingly took care of me.”

“I did.”

“And mentioned certain things about your bard,” his voice was practically sparkling with excitement, “before naming me Lovely. Feel free to keep _that_ up by the way.”

“I will.”

“That was certainly not how I imagined you riding me for the first time, either,” he laughed. It was such a wonderful sound, washing Geralt like the first breath of spring after a hard winter.

“Me neither.”

“You’ve thought about it too?!” In his periphery, Geralt saw Jaskier’s eyes go wide for a moment before he smirked lewdly, fluttering his eyelashes suggestively, “We’ll revisit _that_ this evening... But back to the point, you then broke the curse with true love’s kiss.”

“Yes, I did.” he confirmed, finally turning his own head to look at Jaskier. They’d stopped walking.

Jaskier raised his free right hand and scratched his fingers through the stubble growing on Geralt’s jaw - making Geralt hum happily - before cupping his cheek. “I’ve felt this way for at least a decade. I’d always assumed you knew of my feelings and chose to ignore them because you didn’t return them,” he murmured, breaths coming slightly faster than normal. 

Eyes never leaving Jaskier’s, Geralt turned his head and pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s palm. He was gratified to see that even that simple gesture caused Jaskier’s breath to hitch.

“I didn’t,” Geralt replied, turning his body so he was directly in front of Jaskier, giving into the urge to let his hands rest on Jaskier’s waist. A shiver ran down his spine when Jaskier cupped the back of his neck with his free hand, thumb teasing at his nape. “If I had…” Geralt trailed off and took a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing. “Sometimes you’d look at me and I’d be able to smell your desire but that’s all I thought it was. I didn’t think too much about it, purposefully. Desiring a witcher and loving a witcher are two very different things. I wanted the latter, but I thought you only wanted the former.” 

“You’re such a fool sometimes,” Jaskier breathed, Geralt watched as his eyes flickered downwards and then let his own gaze drop to Jaskier’s lips. Jaskier’s pink tongue poked out to wet them, Geralt avidly tracked the movement. “But you’re my fool.”

Geralt thought, vaguely, that he probably shouldn’t like being called a fool and if it were anyone other than Jaskier saying it, he’d already have stalked away. But it was Jaskier, Jaskier who’d been in love with him for ten years, Jaskier who Geralt had been in love with for seven. They were both oblivious fools.

“Oh, am I?” he growled playfully, pulling Jaskier against him, until their chests were pressed together, leaving a few scant inches between their faces. Jaskier’s arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders and his smile - small, sweet and just for Geralt - made butterflies take flight in his stomach.

“Yes,” Jaskier gasped, brushing his nose lightly against Geralt’s.

Unable to hold himself back any longer, Geralt closed the last of the distance between them and pressed his lips to Jaskier’s the way he had dreamt off for years. Slow at first, languid. Geralt slipped his tongue into Jaskier’s mouth, caressing, and sucked at Jaskier’s bottom lip but the tender touches were soon not enough. Frantic for each other after so many years of wanting, Jaskier tugged at his hair, spurring Geralt on as they traded hot, desperate kisses. 

And all the while, whenever their lips parted, Geralt would whisper one word, “Lovely.”

**Author's Note:**

> Did you guess? 
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it <3 feel free to comment and kudos on your way out ;) <3
> 
> [My tumblr for anyone who wants to scream about The Witcher with me.](https://lutes-and-dandelions.tumblr.com/)


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